


through the years, we all will be together

by dandelionsknight



Category: RWBY
Genre: Bees Schnees, But a lot of fluff, Multi, Post canon, Some angst, courtesy of blake and yang, domestic au kinda??, holiday au, weiss schnee's getting the christmas she DESERVES
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionsknight/pseuds/dandelionsknight
Summary: “Youcan’tleave me alone with them. They’re practically married.”Ruby laughs on the other line, saying, “Aw, they’re not even dating! You’ll be fine!”Weiss huffs, breath turning to cold mist. It had rained earlier, a horrible water and ice mixture too stubborn to become snow, and the shiny, wet driveway reflects the dizzying array of rainbow lights decorating Blake and Yang’s house. A vision of Yang scrambling along the roof wielding a staple gun while Blake tosses strands of lights up to her seizes Weiss, and her teeth ache from the sweetness of it.*Weiss spends the days leading up to Christmas alone with Blake and Yang. Little does she know, they're betting on who can kiss her under the mistletoe first before Christmas day arrives.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Weiss Schnee/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 64
Kudos: 139





	1. December 21st

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big thank you to my pal [patcho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patcho418/pseuds/Patcho418), who is basically the co-author of this fic in almost every sense of the word. the writing is all mine, but she's offered ideas, insights, hype, and love since I described this fic to her like two weeks ago, and I'm so grateful!

“You _can’t_ leave me alone with them. They’re practically married.”

Ruby laughs on the other line, saying, “Aw, they’re not even dating! You’ll be fine!”

Weiss huffs, breath turning to cold mist. It had rained earlier, a horrible water and ice mixture too stubborn to become snow, and the shiny, wet driveway reflects the dizzying array of rainbow lights decorating Blake and Yang’s house. A vision of Yang scrambling along the roof wielding a staple gun while Blake tosses strands of lights up to her seizes Weiss, and her teeth ache from the sweetness of it.

“Are you sure you can’t leave? I’ll pay for the ticket and everything,” Weiss says, pausing on the driveway to keep the conversation out of earshot from the front door.

“That’s not the problem. Jaune and Pyrrha decided last minute to stay at his parents’ house for a couple more days, and there’s no one else to watch their dogs.”

Groaning, Weiss says, “They’re just so…so…”

“What, _merry_?” Ruby asks. “Come on Weiss, this is our first Christmas off since we became huntresses! Let them rub off on you.”

She sighs again. “When can you come?”

“Not till Christmas Eve, probably.”

“Well…just try and hurry.”

“I hope you got me something good for-”

Weiss hangs up, knowing she’d probably text Ruby again before bed, anyway. An enormous wreath, complete with sparkling ball ornaments and a red velvet bow, stares back at her as she approaches the front door. Just as she presses the doorbell, the door flies open, a blast of warm air and golden light washing over her.

“Weiss!” Yang slams into her with the same force she’d use to fight an Ursa, but instead dedicating the strength to squeezing Weiss and picking her up.

From her new, higher vantage point, Weiss can see Blake leaning against the doorframe, grinning at them as she says, “We were wondering when you were going to stop complaining to Ruby and come inside.”

“I was _not_ complaining,” Weiss says as Yang sets her back down. “And hello, Yang. I missed you too.” She gives her teammates one last squeeze before stepping out of her tight embrace.

Yang sketches out a mock bow. “Can I take your bags to your room, Ms. Schnee?”

“Oh, I can –”

Yang doesn’t wait for her answer, instead hefting the suitcase over her shoulder and heading inside. _Such a showoff_ , Weiss thinks. Once Blake closes the door behind, the two of them also hug.

“It’s okay, Weiss,” Blake says. “Complain all you want, but we have an incredible itinerary of Christmas events planned.”

“An itinerary, hm? Well, at least you know that a proper vacation requires one,” Weiss says, smiling, but only half-joking.

Their house looks like the cover spread of _North Pole Interior Design Monthly_. Every doorway has garland and lights, the smell of pine is in the air, and the fireplace is already burning, guarding against the cold outside air. Yang and Blake bought this cozy two-story home on the outskirts of Vale a while back, too big for just two “friends” (so they claimed), to host everyone during holidays and summers off, and probably, eventually, to have a place to settle down after their time as huntresses.

Weiss picks up a snow globe sitting on the hallway table, and peers inside to look at the tiny towers of Beacon, white glitter coating it when she shakes the snow globe and lets it settle. It’s all so gaudy. And so warm.

“Come on, Weiss!” Yang says, halfway up the stairs.

She follows Yang to the guest bedroom. The bed has a red and black flannel comforter, all four corners tucked in the way she likes (no doubt Blake’s doing), and a stack of towels folded up and waiting for her (also probably Blake.) There’s a small armada of snowmen décor on top of the dresser, though, complete with a glass lantern glowing in various shades of blue (now this, this _had_ to be Yang).

“Very nice,” Weiss says, and she means it.

“We know Schnees have a very high standard of living,” Yang says. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

Weiss shakes her head and tugs at Yang’s knit sweater, which has a flying reindeer on it. “You really didn’t have to dress up for me.”

“Oh, but I did,” Yang says, winking. “And I’ll give you some time to get all dolled up for us, too. Blake’s making dinner.”

She has no witty retort, can only blush as Yang strolls out the door, adding, “Holler if you need anything!”

~

“Father?”

“What is it, Weiss? I was just going back to my study.”

“Do you want to watch a movie with me?”

“Movie? You should go to bed and rest. You’re singing tomorrow, and I don’t want you sounding tired.”

“Oh. Yeah…maybe. I’ll just watch this scene.”

“And turn it down. I can barely work.”

~

Blake makes a stew for dinner, pork and potatoes in a green chile broth, with homemade tortillas warmed on an iron skillet.

“You really made these?” Weiss asks, tearing off a piece of buttery tortilla and eating it to try and quench the burning spice in her mouth.

“Yang helped,” Blake says, shrugging. “I used to always make them with my mom for the holidays, so I just thought it’d be fun.”

“It took like, the whole day yesterday,” Yang says, setting her bowl down after drinking the rest of the stew. “It was _so_ worth it.”

Weiss stands up to start collecting dishes, but Blake puts her hand over hers. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that.”

“You know, I’m _not_ as spoiled as you two make me out to be –”

“Not anymore,” Yang chimes in, and laughs. “We know, Ice Princess, but just relax. You’re our guest. Your job is to find a suitable Christmas movie for us to watch while we decorate the tree.”

“I was wondering why it was empty.”

Blake squeezes Weiss’s hand. “That’s because we were waiting for _you_. I had to practically tie Yang down to stop her from decorating it before you arrived.”

“Oh,” Weiss says, lamely. Blake’s words make her feel even warmer than the meal had.

While Yang and Blake clatter around the kitchen, Weiss sinks onto their overstuffed couch. The fabric is a thick and soft corduroy – was there a single thing in this house that wasn’t so _cozy_? Probably on purpose, and with a little help from Blake’s impeccable eye for design.

From behind the Christmas tree, a pair of yellow eyes catches Weiss’s attention. A cat, a black and brown tabby, creeps toward her. She leans down and says,

“Oh, hi baby, how are you?”

The cat stares at her, tail swishing back and forth, then stretches and darts into the other room just as Yang flops onto the couch beside her.

“Cute, isn’t she? Her name’s Nutmeg,” Yang says. “Or as I like to call her, Nutty. Honestly, she really only responds if I have food.”

“She’s still getting acclimated,” Blake says, sitting down on Weiss’s other side; the temperature rises instantly, pressed between the two of them. “I call her Meg. We rescued her a couple weeks ago, once the house was all set up.”

“At the shelter, they told us some bastards abandoned her when they moved away,” Yang says, jaw popping as it tenses while she speaks. “A neighbor found her half-frozen to death. She’s only two years old.”

“And then you adopted her,” Weiss says, picking up the remote control. “She’s a lucky cat. Who’s going to watch her when we’re away on missions?”

“My dad said he would,” Yang says.

“Or Qrow,” Blake adds. “Him and Nutmeg met a few days ago, and she seemed to like him.”

“Anyway,” Yang says, and digs her fingers in between Weiss’s ribs, making her jolt away, pressing further against Blake. “ _You_ were supposed to pick out a Christmas movie.”

“Please protect me,” Weiss says, curling into Blake and smirking at Yang.

Blake loops her arms around Weiss’s waist and rests her chin on Weiss’s shoulder as she says, “You brought that on yourself. Failed in your duties.”

Weiss hopes Blake can’t feel how fast her heart is beating. “I’ve seen, like, all of these…” Weiss says, flipping through the channels.

Once she settles on a Christmas movie that satiates Yang, something sappy about a workaholic city girl returning to her hometown so her high school sweetheart can teach her the meaning of Christmas, she stops torturing Weiss and hauls in an enormous box of Christmas ornaments. The three of them get to work on the tree.

Some of the ornaments are brand-new, shiny globes in burnished red or gold, but Tai must have passed some of the other ones down to Yang. Weiss unearths a sled made out of popsicle sticks with a cotton ball snowman on it, and the initials YXL on the bottom in yellow glitter glue. The material to tease Yang with is almost too much, too _easy._

When she turns to do just that, Yang is perched precariously on the arm of the couch, Blake hovering nearby with her hands in the air, ready to catch her if she falls while putting a floppy top hat on top of the Christmas tree. A rush of affection hits Weiss, at the way the golden light illuminates Yang’s dimples and the laughter in her eyes. She finds a sturdy branch for the cotton ball snowman to hang from, tucking him between the pine needles with care.

“There!” Yang says, leaping down from the couch.

“You could have used a ladder,” Blake says, but she’s smiling.

“Why? I know you’ll always catch me,” Yang says, flashing a grin brighter than the tinsel around the tree as she walks out of the living room.

“No star?” Weiss asks.

Blake shrugs. “Everyone has a star.”

“ _You_ picked out the hat?”

“Makes our tree look rather dashing, doesn’t it?”

“Excuse me,” Yang says from the hallway. “I had to get a ladder for this.” She holds out a piece of bright red and green mistletoe as she climbs the ladder. “One last activity to complete the festivities for tonight.”

Weiss crosses her arms. “Hoping Blake will finally kiss you if you catch her under that?”

“Or someone else,” Yang says, winking as she hangs it from the ceiling.

Weiss tries to hide the redness in her face by looking away.

~

“Whitley?”

“What is it?”

“Want to watch a movie with me?”

“A Christmas movie? Looks boring.”

“You’ve never even seen it!”

“I just know. Christmas is never any fun anyways. I just ignore it.”

“Then why do you still expect presents from Mother and Father?”

“Enjoy your dumb movie!”

~

“Blake? You staying up, do you want me to leave the light on?”

Yang pokes her head in the living room, where Blake is reading. She looks up, saying, “No, I should probably go to bed, too. Is Weiss already asleep?”

“I think so, the door’s closed.”

As Blake approaches her, she says, “By the way, that was a nice touch, lifting her during the hug, Xiao Long. But I’m playing the long game.”

Yang shakes her and points to the mistletoe above them. “The long game? It’s almost Christmas, Belladonna, and Weiss will be kissing _me_.”

“You still haven’t said what I get when I win this bet.”

“That’s because I know you won’t win.”

“I’m listening…” Blake teases, grinning wide enough to show her little fangs. Yang had never told her just how cute she thought those were.

“Isn’t the kiss its own reward?”

Blake crosses her arms. “How about the loser has to take a picture of the moment? So they can feel the sting of defeat forever.”

“I like the way you think,” Yang says. “Especially since you’ll be the one feeling the sting.”

“Cocky,” Blake says, brushing past her as she heads upstairs, “I don’t know if Weiss is into that.”

“Night, Blake. I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“We sure will.” Blake pauses at the top of the stairs, adding, “Goodnight, Yang.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm one of those people who loves Christmas, so honestly, this fic just ticks so many boxes for me. if you made it down here, thanks for coming on this journey with me! very excited to continue and give weiss the best holiday season.
> 
> as always, hang out with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dandelionsnight) or [Tumblr!](https://dandelionsknight.tumblr.com/)


	2. December 22nd

“Mother?”

“Weiss? You’re still awake?”

“I just wanted to finish this movie…do you want to watch some with me?

“A Christmas movie? How nice…I’m afraid I have a bit of a headache, so I think I’m going right to bed. We have such a big day tomorrow…”

“Oh, okay. I hope your head feels better.”

“Thank you, dear. I’ll see you in the morning.”

~

Even Weiss has to admit Vale is charming at Christmas time. The shop windows are decorated with garland and holly, the bells above the doors chiming as shoppers dart in and out. The city sells horse-drawn carriage rides at this time of year, and she smiles each time she sees another Clydesdale clop past on the cobblestones. Even the songs from group of carolers carry faintly from a block or two over.

The newly rebuilt Beacon dominates Vale’s skyline, the same as it did when Weiss started there, spotting it from the window of an Atlas airship and pressing her hand to the glass, wondering if her life would finally begin when she became a huntress. It feels like a lifetime ago now – just three years ago, they were fighting for their lives against impossible odds. Now they’re listening to the sounds of carols and standing in the glow of a twenty foot tall Christmas tree in the city center.

Yang drops a hand onto Weiss’s shoulder. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That I miss our bunk beds?” Weiss asks, still gazing at the towers of Beacon, voicing the wistful memory before she can stop herself.

“Wait, what? Blake, did you hear that?”

Blake shrugs. “I told you she secretly loved them.”

Blake and Yang, per usual, are their own versions of gay fashion disasters. Yang is wearing a thick yellow flannel lined with fleece (“Did you get that from your dad’s closet?” Weiss had accused on the way out the door) and a pair of fingerless knit gloves far too reminiscent of her Beacon days. Blake wears a fuzzy white hat with flaps on the sides to keep her regular ears warm as well as two fuzzy triangles sticking out of the top to keep her cat ears warm.

Weiss shoots Yang a glare. “I didn’t…that’s not what I meant!”

The two of them were so insufferable, spoiling the memory with their _smugness_.

“What did you mean, then?” Blake asks, twirling one finger in Weiss’s long ponytail

“ _Nevermind_ ,” Weiss says, batting her away.

Weiss had never been ice skating before. Especially not on an outdoor rink in the middle of downtown Vale, situated at the foot of the enormous city Christmas tree sparkling with tinsel and lights all the colors of the rainbow flag Yang has in her window. Kids are laughing and clinging to their parents’ hands, everyone bundled up in winter hats and gloves, holding Styrofoam cups of steaming hot chocolate that make the cold air smell sweet.

One pair of rental skates (which were the ugliest tan color she’s ever seen) and some basic lessons from Blake and Yang later, she finds herself on the ice, trying to balance despite how wobbly her ankles are in the skates.

Yang glides up next to her, asking, “Getting the hang of it yet?”

“I fight in heels,” Weiss says. “I think I can handle ice skating, of all things.”

“Is that why you’re clinging to the side?”

She drops her hand from the wall surrounding the rink. “I am _not_ using the side.”

“Great,” Yang says, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the middle.

Weiss yelps, sliding forward, half balancing on her own and half being pulled by Yang. Blake skates up on her other side, moving just as nimbly on a pair of skates as she does on the battlefield. Figures that both of them would already be great ice skaters. They’d acted nothing short of conspiratorial at breakfast that morning, laughing behind forkfuls of Yang’s eggs and hashbrowns, only telling Weiss to dress warm, but not dropping any other hints about what they were doing until they arrived in downtown Vale.

Blakes slips her hand into Weiss’s other hand and says, “Just don’t think about it so hard. Shouldn’t you be at home on the ice, princess?’

“Very funny,” Weiss says, but tries to take her advice, especially with her mind now occupied by the feeling of both their warm, strong hands holding each of her own.

It’s a little terrifying, feeling like if she falls, she’ll drag them both down with her, but Weiss angles her feet inward the way Yang had shown her and keeps pushing off either one, gliding along the hard ice. She’s helped along by Blake and Yang’s momentum, and finds she’s able to stop staring down at her feet, lift her head, and enjoy the sights of the other skaters whirling past them, the wind cooling her sweaty neck and cheeks.

“Think you’ve got it?” Yang asks, squeezing her hand.

“I think I do,” Weiss says, squeezing back before letting go of both their hands and continuing to propel herself along, using her experience with combat stances to maintain her balance.

“Good,” Blake says. “I’m going to beat Yang in a lap around the rink, and then we’ll be back.”

Blake shoots off at what must be a dangerous speed, ice chips flying up from her skates as her legs move in long, powerful strides.

“Hey!” Yang says, and tears off after her, gaining on Blake as they skirt around a group of kids and come up on the rink’s first curve.

Weiss shakes her head at the sight of Yang’s blonde hair streaming behind her as she chases Blake on the ice. It hits her again, a rush of affection in her chest for _both_ of them. For the way she can see Yang’s smile flash even across the rink, the way Blake is visibly laughing as Yang still can’t catch her, weaving around other people with ease.

There’s such a rightness to the two of them together, like a pair of twin stars held up in each other’s orbit. It had always been the two of them, from the very beginning, back in the Emerald Forest when she’d seen them choose a chess piece together. Their team worked all together of course, and it’s not that Weiss feels like she _doesn’t_ belong with Ruby; Ruby is her best friend, a special piece of her heart she’d never known would become quite so special, an optimism she needed so desperately in her life.

But Blake and Yang, they just fit. She loved both of them, in their own ways, and she appreciated how outwardly affectionate they were with her, how they tried so hard to make Weiss feel like she was in their orbit, too. But however much she loved either of them, together or separately, in the end, it would always be Blake and Yang, the way it was in the beginning.

Weiss is so busy watching them that when she realizes she’s about to barrel into another person, there’s no time to try and stop. Instead she swerves and ends up slamming onto the hard ice, lying on her side. The ice radiates cold against her hands as she tries to push herself up – she was a _huntress_ , after all, she took harder hits than this every day, but there’s a smarting pain in her right ankle.

“Weiss!”

Yang skates up next to her, panting, cheeks red from the cold and the exertion, extending a hand down to her. “You okay? That was a big fall.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Weiss says, slipping as she tries to get up, unable to put much weight on her hurt ankle.

Blake kneels down next to her, saying, “Here, let us help.”

By putting her arms around their shoulders, Blake and Yang are able to lift Weiss up with embarrassing ease. Her cheeks burn as they help her off the rink, and as the miserable pain in her ankle doesn’t fade immediately the way she thought it might. Once they’re back on solid ground, Weiss stifles a small squeak as Yang lifts her bridal-style.

And because she’s Yang Xiao Long, she’s grinning down at Weiss, eyes sparkling like she’s just pulled her from a burning building or saved her from a raging Ursa. Weiss loops her arms around Yang’s neck and says in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “Oh, how _heroic_ of you.”

“I know,” Yang says, and winks. “Maybe this was my secret plan all along.”

Even in the cold air, Yang is as warm as the fireplace back home. Her flannel smells even mustier up close, but it’s thick and soft against Weiss’s cheek, and she finds she doesn’t mind that homey smell. Better than when Yang smells like blood and gunpowder, anyway.

She can’t give her the satisfaction, though, so Weiss huffs but allows herself to be carried to a small table and chairs. Blake pulls up another chair to prop up Weiss’s foot and unlaces the skate for her, inspecting Weiss’s ankle. Weiss tries to ignore how tender Blake treats her as she makes sure it’s not broken. In the end, it seems like Weiss had just rolled it, still not used to the skates.

Yang fetches them three hot chocolates, but promptly abandons hers when they announce there will be a skating race for adults. Blake stays at the table with Weiss, blowing on the steam curling from her hot chocolate as they both watch Yang do some ridiculous stretches at the starting line.

“You can go too, if you want,” Weiss says, letting the steam warm her cold nose.

Part of her _wants_ Blake to just leave her be. It’s all so embarrassing, the two of them having to help her off the ice after something as small as rolling her ankle.

“I’m alright. Besides, I would beat Yang anyway, and she’d be insufferable the rest of the day,” Blake says, sipping her cocoa.

“Even without the headstart?”

“Of course.”

She chuckles at that, looking for Yang at the starting line. When she finds her, her teammate notices, waving at the both of them and tossing them overly dramatic kisses. Once the race starts, however, she’s all business, shooting off so fast, Weiss wonders if she somehow snuck her gauntlets onto the ice with her. But no, it’s just Yang’s competitive side showing, as she gets low and speeds past the other skaters.

“For what it’s worth, I miss Beacon too,” Blake says. “Parts of it, anyway.”

Weiss turns her attention back to her. Blake is looking not at the rink, but at the skyline, where Beacon stands there like a storybook castle.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Weiss asks.

“Because you make it too easy to tease you.” Blake is smiling as she says it, so Weiss can’t even feel indignant. “Do you ever think about it, though? If we could have had four years together?”

“We found each other in the end,” Weiss says. “Is that really what you would have wanted?”

She doesn’t answer for a while, and Weiss is about to apologize for saying that before Blake says, “I guess not. It’s a nice thought, but we wouldn’t be who we are without everything that came after the Fall.”

“I know I wouldn’t,” Weiss says, looking away, toward the ground.

She can see her perfectly, the person she was at Beacon, and Weiss can’t decide if she wants to hold that girl close and hug her, or try to forget about her entirely. Some combination of the two, maybe. Blake looks so far away, though, her body here sitting across from Weiss but her heart clearly still in their dorm room with the deathtrap bunk beds.

Leaning across the table, Weiss takes one of Blake’s hands into her own, squeezing it. Her teammate finally turns to look at her and smiles, lacing their fingers together and squeezing back.

“I’m just glad we’re all together now,” Blake says. “Especially for Christmas.”

Weiss’s response is interrupted by cheering and clapping, and Weiss looks over at the rink to see Yang doing a victory lap in the middle of the ice, skating backwards and otherwise being a _complete_ showoff.

“Oh my gods, she won,” Weiss says.

“We’re never going to hear the end of this,” Blake says, shaking her head and laughing.

~

“Winter?”

“I thought Father told you to sleep by now.”

“He did, but this movie is almost over. Want to watch the end with me?”

“I never knew you liked Christmas movies so much.”

“This one’s my favorite.”

“I don’t know, we should both go to sleep. You know tomorrow’s going to be so exhausting.”

“I think I’m going to stay up and watch…”

“Suit yourself. If Father asks me why you sound tired, though, I’m going to pretend I don’t know anything.”

~

When Weiss wakes up, it’s already dark outside. The flannel comforter is so warm it should be illegal, a welcome change to the chill on the ice, but when she rolls over, a pair of glowing feline eyes stare back at her. Nutmeg. Once the cat sees Weiss is awake, she leaps off the bed, darting out the door just as Yang appears at the threshold.

“Huh, she likes you,” Yang says.

Weiss sits up – the pain is still there in her ankle, but less so, especially with the brace Blake had wrapped around it when they made it home. She should be fine to walk on it as long as she’s careful.

“I think she just likes this fuzzy blanket,” Weiss says. “And really, I can’t blame her.”

Yang sets a mug of tea on the nightstand. “Here, Blake says this should make you feel better.”

“Have I really been asleep since we got home?” Weiss asks, picking up the mug and bathing in the minty smell of it. “Sorry, I really am the worst guest –”

“You can do whatever you want,” Yang says, sitting down next to her. “It’s a _holiday_ , you know. I just came up here because dinner’s almost ready and we didn’t want to eat without you.”

She sips on the tea – it burns her tongue a little, but the warmth it spreads from her head to her toes is more than welcome. “Blake’s cooking again? You really hit the jackpot, Xiao Long. A woman who will cook for _your_ enormous appetite.”

Yang scoffs. “I made that big breakfast this morning, didn’t I? Blake’s just better with dinner foods, that’s all. Why, feeling jealous, Schnee?”

“I’m a perfectly good cook, thank you.”

“I meant of having Blake cook for me.”

“Technically she’s cooking for me too while I’m here,” Weiss says, sipping her tea, looking up at Yang through her lashes.

Yang cocks her head and says, “Someone’s feeling better, then. Come and have dinner.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Her ankle is tender, but nothing she can’t walk off. Downstairs smells like tomatoes and garlic, and Weiss spots Blake in the kitchen, stirring a pot of marinara sauce.

“She noticed how much you were struggling with the spicy meal yesterday, so she wanted to tone it down,” Yang says, looking at Weiss over her should and smirking.

Weiss can’t even argue, so she just makes a face at Yang. Her teammate pauses in the hallway that connects the kitchen to the living room, and Weiss stops with her, a second too late before she glances up and realizes they’re standing underneath the mistletoe. Yang tucks her hands behind her back innocently, but she’s looking at Weiss with the same sparkle in her eyes she had when she picked her up at the rink.

“You really should be more careful about where you let me ambush you,” Yang says.

Weiss is about to retort (something like “in your dreams!”), but pauses when, out of the corner of her eye, she catches Blake looking at them. Blake is leaning against the counter, seemingly disinterested, but then she _winks_ at Weiss, and she has to wonder what her teammate is up to. Turning back to Yang, curious to see what Blake will do, Weiss says,

“How about you close your eyes, then?”

For once, _Yang_ doesn’t have a retort, her ears turning red. Finally she splutters, “C-close my eyes? Feeling shy?”

“Do you want your kiss or not?” Weiss asks, pouting.

Yang obliges, closing her eyes and leaning forward slightly. Her anticipation is palpable, and Weiss can’t believe she’s _that_ excited about teasing her. As soon as Yang closes her eyes, though, Blake slips past the both of them, making good use of her trademark stealth.

As Weiss moves in closer to Yang, resting one hand on her shoulder, Blake passes her a pillow from off the couch. Weiss leans into Yang, close enough that her teammate can feel her breath on her lips and when Yang leans in to meet her, she puts up the pillow between the two of them so Yang can give it a smooch .

Both Blake and Weiss retreat into the kitchen, laughing, leaving Yang to fume under the mistletoe. Weiss can’t believe how effortlessly they pulled off the prank, with just a _look_ between them.

“It’s okay Yang, we already knew you practice on your pillow,” Blake says, pouring a box of pasta into a pot of boiling water.

“ _Oh, Blake_ ,” Weiss teases, though it can’t be that far from the truth.

“Both of you are evil,” Yang says, her entire face red now, making her freckles stand out.

Weiss sits down at the table, wiping a few tears from her eyes as she finally stops laughing, and sets out the dishes that Blake puts in front of her. Just as Blake is getting ready to serve their plates, Yang wanders up behind her, draping herself over her shoulders and dipping a finger into marinara, licking it off.

“We’re about to eat, you know,” Blake says.

“I know,” Yang, setting her chin on Blake’s shoulder. “I just wanted to taste. You made homemade sauce for Weiss – how come _I_ always get store bought?”

“Because you live here. Now drain the pasta for me, please.”

Weiss smiles at the way Yang pouts and Blake smiles at her, but they get to work serving all three bowls of spaghetti. She says, “You two are so married, you know that?”

“ _What?_ ” Yang says, almost dropping the bowl she’s holding, catching it at the last moment.

“Just…the way you are,” Weiss says, unable to put into more elegant words.

“I doubt that,” Blake says, unruffled, putting a basket of bread on the table and grinning at Weiss. “If Yang wanted me, she could have said so a long time ago.”

Yang is still standing in the middle of the kitchen with her mouth hanging open, and Blake gently brushes her hand underneath Yang’s chin as she passes by. “Careful, you might get a fly in there.”

Closing her mouth, Yang says, “We’re just not, all right, Weiss? Let’s leave it at that.”

There’s something going on here, something Blake and Yang aren’t saying, but Weiss can’t put her finger on what it is. Are the two of them already dating, but too embarrassed to say so? Or maybe they were waiting until Ruby was here to say something, or until Christmas. Yang _was_ a fan of theatrics like that.

She drops it as soon as they start dinner, though. With enough time, she’d figure out what’s going on with her teammates. They eat and have a lazy evening together, Blake settling down to read in one of the living room’s armchairs once the kitchen is clean, and Yang and Weiss on the couch, flipping between a couple Christmas movie times every time commercials come on for one of them.

Eventually, disinterested by the fact that she’s seen both these movies countless times, Weiss borrows a book from Blake and absently thumbs through it. It’s a light lesbian romance novel, two college friends who either haven’t realized or won’t admit how bad they have it for each other, and she finds herself more interested than she thought she would be.

“Are you cold?” Yang asks her at some point during the night.

Snapping to attention, Weiss says, “A little. Why?”

Part of her hopes Yang means to scoot closer to her, as close as they were sitting yesterday when Blake was on the couch with them, too. The idea of leaning against Yang’s solid body, soaking up her warmth as she continues reading, sounds like the perfect end to the night. But Yang just smiles and gets up, returning from upstairs with a knit blanket she tosses over Weiss’s lap.

Right. Of course. A blanket.

They eventually trickle upstairs, first Yang, followed by Blake, leaving just Weiss, who promises to turn out all the lights when she goes to bed. Nutmeg finds her way back into the living room, jumping onto the couch to claim the spot that Yang had left empty. Blake and Yang had mentioned that she was still acclimating, so Weiss reaches out a hand to her, allowing the cat to sniff her.

Nutmeg doesn’t bolt, so Weiss runs a hand down her back, petting her silky fur with gentle strokes. “There you go,” Weiss says. “Not so bad, right?”

When Weiss finally goes to bed, Nutmug follows her upstairs, and jumps up on the bed to curl up at the foot of it and fall asleep with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a quick note on the timeline for anyone else that may care: I imagine this as post-canon times, all of them are around 23 years old in this fic, and I imagine that they defeated Salem sometime when these three were 19/20 years old, so now they're working as huntresses defeating what remains of the Grimm, but no new Grimm are appearing, their presence has declined, etc. pyrrha is also alive in this timeline bc she makes me happy
> 
> we're really coming down to the wire, huh? well, stick around for the next week as I spend my holiday with these three!! thank you to those of you who made it down here, and as my friend and hype woman for this fic says, let's make this the ha-bee-iest schnee-son! 
> 
> leave a comment if you feel like it, and hang out with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dandelionsnight) or [Tumblr!](https://dandelionsknight.tumblr.com/)


	3. December 23rd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A trigger warning on this chapter for mentions of past abuse, as well as some mention of Adam. There's also a couple brief mentions of alcohol. Enjoy!

The guests at her parents’ Christmas Eve party reminded Weiss of the mannequins in the shop windows around Atlas, their skin and smiles like cold and smooth plastic. There was a stiffness even to the way they laughed, dressed in evening gowns and black ties, backs rigid and eyes betraying no warmth. Her father always hired a string quartet to play renditions of Christmas carols, music floating above the vapid chatter in the reception hall like the bubbles fizzing in their guests’ champagne flutes.

Weiss tugged at the collar of her red velvet dress, trimmed with white fur at the neck and sleeves – she felt ridiculous in it, like _she_ belonged in one of the Christmas window displays, with a little key built into her back to wind up and make her dance. Her mother had insisted on it, though. She always purchased their outfits for the Christmas Eve party.

She had thought tonight would be a nice time to catch up with Winter, find out all about her first year at the academy, but she hadn’t left General Ironwood and Clover’s side all night. All three of them wore their uniforms; all three of them hadn’t cracked a smile all night, chatting with various Atlas elite, hands clasped behind their backs and refusing any offered champagne. Once Weiss and Winter had stomached these parties together, making fun of their parents’ guests. Now Winter stood among them and Weiss decided to go have another cookie.

On her way to the dessert table, her father caught her arm. Even on Christmas Eve, he looked no different, hair slicked, suit starched, red handkerchief folded tightly in his breast pocket.

“You and Winter will play some music for our guests in about ten minutes,” he said. “Make sure you’re prepared.”

“Yes, Father,” she said, slipping out of his grasp.

She found Whitley at the dessert table, too, stacking a plate of macaroons in neat rows, and she said, “Do you have to put your hands all over them?”

Whitley scowled. He looked like he was playing pretend, in the little suit their mother had purchased for him, his hair slicked like Jacques’s but with a couple hairs sticking up on top. Weiss licked her thumb and tried to smooth them down for him, laughing when he ducked away from her, swatting at her hand.

“Hey! Don’t touch me!”

Weiss laughed. “What, you want to walk around with your hair sticking up?”

He patted it down himself, saying, “I was _rearranging_ them. They were so messy.”

She couldn’t blame him; he was the only kid at this party, the youngest person here aside from her. He must have been endlessly bored, with the threat of setting off their father’s temper if he admitted it looming over him.

“Have you seen Mother?” Weiss asked.

“A little. There she is right now,” Whitley said, pointing.

Their mother was making her way through the crowd, appearing like royalty in her deep blue evening gown, silver jewelry glinting at her ears and her wrists. She greeted the people who stopped her politely, but was making her way toward the stairs, wine glass still in hand. Weiss caught her just as she reached the base of the stairs.

“Oh, hello, sweetheart. Enjoying the party?” her mother asked.

"Sort of," Weiss said, a neutral answer that didn't commit to an emotion one way or another. "Where are you going?"

"I thought I might head upstairs," her mother said, looking into her wine as she swirled it. "You know how tired I can get sometimes..."

 _But you haven't even heard me sing yet_. The words were whispered in the back of her mind, but she doesn't voice them; they're so needy, so childish. She was not a little girl tugging at her mother's hand for attention.

She smiled and said, "I understand. Get some rest."

Her mother lifted a hand to Weiss's face; she almost flinched away, uncertain of what would come next, but relaxed when her mother's cool touch settled on her cheek. She looked up at her, slightly tilting her head into her mother's hand.

"Enjoy yourself," her mother said. "I'll see you in the morning."

And then she was gone, disappearing up the stairs. Weiss had always thought of her as the ghost of Schnee Manor, her steps silent even in heels.

"Weiss!" her father hissed behind her, and she turned to see him gesturing at her. "Go and join your sister!"

Ignoring the bite in his voice, Weiss joined her sister at the base of the enormous silver Christmas tree in the middle of the reception hall. The servants had moved in Winter's ivory piano for her. It was spotless and gleaming like it'd never been touched, but Winter was playing a few scales, fingers flickering over the keys with the same ease they handled her weapon with.

"Good to finally see you," Weiss said.

"You too. What should we play?"

She shrugged. "Did Father tell you anything he wanted to hear?"

"He told me to just choose. Most people here aren't really paying us any mind, but tradition is tradition, I suppose."

"Silent Night, then? For tradition?" Weiss asked, unable to keep the sarcastic bite out of her tone.

Winter shrugged, playing the first chord of it for Weiss to hear her starting note. She took her place beside the piano and Winter began playing, the sound of the piano drawing some of the guests' attention. Winter's piano playing was much like her fighting style: her technique was flawless, not a missed step or note, meticulous and perfectionist to the point of inhuman.

Weiss sang. Sometimes she thought she still sang for the love of it, like in the shower or alone in her room at night. But performing for all her parents' guests was less a way to express herself and more a way to satisfy her father, to stave off any tension, for at least a little while. So she sang with her diaphragm the way her voice teacher always taught her, imagining the highest notes floating out from the top of her head.

After a minute or two, most of the guests ignored them. The guest list for this party never _truly_ changed, since wealth passed from parent to child, and by that point families had been attending for years. Weiss wondered why her father even bothered anymore having them perform.

They never played music together anymore – as children they would do it on their own, a way to pass time, a way to even have _fun_ together. Now they went through the motions – Winter knew when her sister would crescendo and so she’d sing louder, and Winter knew when Weiss would pause for breath. It may as well have been the two of them alone in the room playing. Their mother had already disappeared entirely.

When they were finished, there was light, scattered applause among the guests, and Weiss curtsied while Winter bowed. General Ironwood was approaching them, and Clover was smiling now, the man’s lucky clover charm gleaming on his chest, but Weiss didn’t linger for what was said.

She went upstairs, ignoring the tears in the corners of her eyes. It didn’t _matter_ that no one had paid them any mind. Why tonight, all of a sudden, was she so sensitive, demanding attention like a child? She was fourteen, well on her way to becoming an adult. One day, she would even leave this place for Beacon, and become the most skilled Huntress in the world.

In one of the living rooms, she sat on the couch, leaning her head on the armrest while she flipped through all the Christmas movies playing on TV. Eventually though, someone knocked on the door. It was Winter, standing at attention in the light of the hallway like she was about to give her a military salute. Weiss had forgotten to turn on any lights in her rush to just have a moment alone.

“What are you doing here?” Weiss asked.

“Father told me to bring you back to the party,” Winter said, coming inside the living room, switching on one of the lamps beside the couch, but remaining standing.

“I’m not coming back down.”

“We’ve survived them before, Weiss. You can stand another year.”

She crossed her arms, looking away from her sister. “Why have you ignored me all night?”

“I haven’t. It’s just – it’s important for me to stay close to the general.”

“On Christmas Eve?”

Winter sighed. “It’s just another day for us.”

“I wanted – I thought –”

She faltered, swallowing down the lump in her throat that formed along with more tears pricking her eyes. Sitting here under Winter’s gaze, she felt downright pathetic. She didn’t know _what_ she thought – that somehow the holidays would fix them, would make the manor feel warmer, in a way it hadn’t for years?

She knew what tomorrow would look like without even having to live it: they would all wake up at different hours, trickle downstairs whenever, open a present or two throughout the day with whoever was around. Klein would make a lavish dinner; either their mother or their father would be there, but not both, and the meal would pass with only the sounds of their utensils clinking on the plates.

Winter sat down on the other end of the couch, her back straight as one of the reception hall’s pillars. “We have to go and find our own way. Our own happiness.”

“Is that what you did?” Weiss asked, looking at her sister, searching her cool blue eyes for any hint that the mask was cracking.

“It was.”

“But you just _left_.”

“One day, you can leave, too. And that day will be soon.”

A tear spilled down her cheek and Weiss pressed her palm against her cheek to stop any more. “So we just have to give up? We can never be happy here?”

Winter tugged on one of her shirt cuffs, looking down at them as she spoke. “It’s not giving up. It’s…surviving. For your own sake.”

Her sister would never try again to make their home or their family happy. Weiss said, “You’re just like them.”

She said it even though she knew, the first chance she got, she was going to leave, too. To make her own path. Maybe even her own happiness. But she wouldn’t grow to ignore the ones she loved. At least, she hoped not.

If the words affected her, Winter didn’t show it on her face. She simply asked, “Will you come back down?”

“No. If Father wants me at the party so badly, he can drag me back down there.”

“Very well.”

Winter left, and Weiss couldn’t even make herself watch her sister leave, just rest her head back on the couch and blink back more tears. She was _not_ going to curl up and cry alone, no matter what. None of the things upsetting her even mattered enough to get her so worked up.

Another knock came at the door, and Weiss whipped around, expecting her father, but paused at the sight of a more welcome man with a mustache.

“Madam Weiss?” Klein’s eyes were yellow as he stood at the threshold, holding a silver tray with a steaming cup on it. “May I come in?”

She softened just at the sight of him. “Yes, of course.”

“I saw you didn’t return with Winter, and thought you might still like to have some of the hot cocoa from the party.”

He offered her the cup and she took it, wrapping her hands around the warm porcelain. A bed of melty marshmallows floated on top of it, and the smell of cocoa filled her senses as she bathed in the steam.

“Thank you, Klein,” she said. “You’d better get going, though. Father will be furious if he sees you gone.”

His eyes shifted to red, and Klein said, “Well, what Jacque doesn’t know won’t hurt him, eh?” He grinned before his eyes turned blue and he asked, “What are you watching up here by yourself, my snowflake?”

“It’s called _White Christmas_ ,” Weiss said, and shifted in her seat, taking a small sip of cocoa. “Would you like to stay and watch some?”

Klein sat in one of the armchairs beside the couch, setting the tray on the coffee table, and when he smiled at her, his eyes were back to yellow. “I could stay for a spell.”

Weiss smiled and started talking excitedly, “Oh, it’s so wonderful, these two sisters perform together, and they join up with these other two singers to put on a Christmas show…”

~

After their day out yesterday, Yang is pretty sure that a day in is just what Weiss needs. They all sleep late, sunlight beaming in through the blinds by the time she stirs – Yang is actually the first one up, so she makes some breakfast for her girls. Inevitably, the lure of frying sausage brings Blake downstairs with Weiss in tow, the ice princess yawning in the most unladylike fashion Yang’s ever seen. She could make fun of her for it, but she decides against it. Maybe she’ll get to see it again.

They spend the day baking, a recipe for chocolate gingerbread men that Weiss stares at with intimidation written on her face, but Yang could recite in her sleep. Chocolate chip cookies were Summer’s specialty, of course, the thing she would come home and whip up a batch of the moment Yang had a scraped knee or tears coming down her face. But all kinds of chocolate cookies were Summer’s favorite, and she always baked up a legion of chocolate gingerbread men at Christmas time.

“Your hands get so _dry_ from the flour,” Weiss says, wiping her cheek absently and leaving behind a smear of flour.

Blake suppresses a laugh behind her hand. “Why don’t you let me do dry ingredients, then?”

“And let Weiss use the mixer?” Yang asks, dipping her hand in the jar of flour and flicking a cloud of it toward Weiss. “Have you ever even used one before?”

Weiss lunges at Yang, moving to run her flour-dusted hand through her hair, and only her combat reflexes save her as she retreats to the other side of the kitchen, laughing. While the gingerbread men bake in the oven, Yang makes the icing, whisking together sugar, egg whites, and lemon juice until the mixture is as smooth as the ice skating rink from yesterday.

She dips a finger in it, and Blake appears by her side, asking, “What do you say, head chef?”

“Wouldn’t it be head _baker_?” Weiss asks from she’s crouched in front of the oven, watching the cookies.

“I say it’s done.”

Blake closes her hand around Yang’s wrist and licks the icing off her finger. Yang ignores the rush of warmth to her cheeks as Blake leans back, licking her lips and saying,

“I think it’s done too.”

She grins wickedly and Yang doesn’t even have to wonder if Blake knows what she does to her.

When the cookies are done, Yang has to hold Weiss back from decorating every five minutes, reminding her that the icing will melt off if they try to decorate them too early. Eventually, though, they’re ready, and Yang fills three bags with icing and sets everyone loose.

She carefully designs cowboy boots, a hat, chaps, and a vest for one of her gingerbread men. Weiss has never done it before, so she’s going traditional, outlining the cookie with laser-focused precision; Yang has never seen lines quite so clean. Blake holds up the one she’s been working on, complete with a long ponytail and combat skirt.

“I made Weiss,” she says.

Yang bursts into laughter, unable to even hear Weiss’s complaints about it, but from the grins on both her and Blake’s faces, she doesn’t mind too much. As revenge, Weiss ends up making both Blake _and_ Yang (for laughing so hard), making one gingerbread man with cat ears and a tiny Gambol Shroud, and the other with wild hair and gauntlets.

Decorating and clean-up combined leads them to order pizza for dinner; Weiss makes a salad for them, finding her way around the kitchen as if she’d lived here for months already, even navigating Blake’s meticulously organized vegetable drawer, which had always been a mystery to Yang, for the exact vegetables she wants.

With the sun going down, they make a bowl of eggnog, adding a dash of whiskey and sprinkled cinnamon on top, drinking out of the fancy glasses that Blake had insisted they buy but Yang had never seen the use for. Now she understands – she does feel a certain sparkling warmth in her chest drinking eggnog in the living room, thick and sweet with the smell of cinnamon dancing underneath her nose, putting on a playlist of Christmas music, and grabbing both Blake and Weiss by the hands to dance with them.

Blake has always been a hopeless dancer, but Weiss is actually _good_ , knowing where to rest her hands on Yang’s shoulder and back, moving in time with the rhythm and Yang’s pushes and pulls, and spinning when Yang lifts her hand above Weiss’s head, her white ponytail whipping around her. Her ankle is still tender from yesterday, so Yang refrains from giving her any grief for needing a couple breaks; besides, when Blake rolls her eyes at the two of them (jealous of their moves but too prideful to show it, of course), Yang grabs her around the waist with one arm and takes her hand with the other, swaying them, something simple enough that even Blake can’t mess up.

Yang feels almost delirious, the sugar pumping in her blood from the cookies and the eggnog, the whiskey burning in her throat, the picture of the three of them dancing in the living room cast in a golden haze, more so than just the lights on the Christmas tree could make, though it helps how they put a sparkle in Blake and Weiss’s eyes. She’s afraid to blink too long, to break the contact with one or both of them, to let the last song play, as if it’ll all fall apart like poorly strung tinsel if she tries to change just one thing about it.

But the happiness stays, it lingers from song to song, it _stays_ even as it gets fully dark outside. At one point she has an arm thrown around Weiss’s shoulders, her other hand holding onto Blake’s hand, and the points of contact make her feel like this is solid, this is real, the way Weiss’s shoulder shifts to better fit in the curve of Yang’s embrace and Blake squeezes her hand, hard, their fingers pressed together. They’re tactile, they’re real, Yang loves them both so much and they’re right in front of her, right beside her.

They do eventually crash a little, and Yang needs some water, sweat cooling on the back of her neck. She gives Weiss her phone to play whatever she wants through the living room speaker and retreats into the kitchen for that glass of water. Nutmeg is waiting for her, brushing against her legs while she stands at the sink.

“Hey Nutty,” Yang says, reaching for the jar of treats they keep for her.

Nutmeg is in an aloof mood today, though, because the moment Yang says her name, she trots toward the living room instead of paying her any mind. She drinks the water and returns to the living room, trying to spot where the cat disappeared to, but stops at the scene before her. Blake had collapsed on the couch to play on her phone, but she’s put it down now, and she’s looking at Weiss, who’s perched on the arm of one of the living room chairs and looking out the window.

Weiss sits in the glow of the Christmas tree and the lights on the mantle, illuminating the shine of her hair, the delicate slope of her cheekbones, the flush in her skin from the dancing and the sugar and the eggnog. She’s singing with the song she’s chosen, so quiet, Yang wouldn’t have even picked out her voice if she wasn’t looking for it.

“ _I’m dreaming of a White Christmas, just like the ones I used to know_.” Weiss’s voice is so light and ethereal, floating in the air like snow when the wind catches it and keeps it from falling to the ground for just a moment longer, allowing it to shimmer while suspended. “ _Where treetops glisten and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow_.”

Yang sinks onto the couch beside Blake, who’s put her phone done now, and is looking at Weiss, too. Leaning into her, Yang whispers, “You could say she’s dreaming of a _Weiss_ Christmas.”

Blake puts a hand on Yang’s knee and says, “Yang.”

She looks back at Weiss, and can see her face now, as Weiss presses her palm to her cheek to wipe away a couple tears that spill down. Yang stands up, pulling Blake along with her, going to her.

~

“Are you alright?”

Yang’s voice is tender as she puts a hand on Weiss’s shoulder; she blinks back any remaining tears and shakes her head, almost laughing at herself.

“Sorry,” Weiss says, and looks up at the two of them, concern written into each of their expression. “That’s my favorite Christmas song.”

“We’ve never heard you sing before,” Blake says.

“Except in the shower, sometimes. At Beacon,” Yang adds.

“Wait, you could _hear_ me?”

Yang laughs. “Don’t worry, we’d never tell a soul that you secretly love it. Unless you want other people to know.”

It’s not even Christmas day yet, and already Weiss has had a lovely time with them. Far more enjoyable than she expected it would be, anyway. There’s an ease to being in this house with her teammates, celebrating with them, doing something as shameless as dancing in the living room. Or possibly the eggnog got her to do that. Either way, though, looking into their earnest faces, Weiss appreciates every teasing joke and casual touch, and she appreciates this, too.

“It just makes me think about being in Atlas,” Weiss says. “With my family, and what Christmas was like with them.”

Yang nods. “Not the happiest time for the Schnees?”

“When were they ever?” Weiss asks, laughing bitterly. “I mean, it was more of the same. But I can’t shake the feeling that maybe…what if it isn’t as bad as I thought it was? What if _they_ weren’t as bad, and I’m just…vilifying them or something…”

She trails off. It’s hardly a complete though, more just a nag in the back of her mind, that she had grown up spoiled and rich and there’s nothing for her to feel so worked up about around the holidays. So her mother and her father weren’t together at Christmas dinner; why did she let the memory have so much power over her?

Blake comes and perches on the back of the armchair, close enough that she can begin turning Weiss’s ponytail into a braid instead. “I used to tell myself the same thing.”

Yang’s face darkens, and Weiss tenses. “About Adam?”

Blake nods as she continues, focused on Weiss’s hair in her hands. “I know our situations were different, but I still understand. At Beacon, whenever I would look back on my time in the White Fang…I started questioning my memories of Adam. If I was really justified in leaving, or if I’d just done it because I…because that’s what I did.”

Yang sits on the edge of the armchair, one hand on Weiss’s leg, putting her other hand on Blake’s knee, gently running her thumb over it. Weiss shifts so Blake can still play with her hair, but she can look at Blake’s face properly.

Blake continues, “But every time I saw him, or I came to my senses, I remembered that I _was_ justified. What he did to me was real. And Weiss, what your father did to you is real too.” Her voice grows quieter. “You said he hit you, didn’t he?”

She’s so stupid for even saying all that earlier. Blake is right, and Weiss sniffs as a couple more tears drip down her cheek, and she doesn’t even wipe them away. Yang reaches up and does it for her, and she smiles down at her.

“And now he’s in jail,” Yang says. “Hopefully for the rest of his life. For all the ways he abused people.”

Blake’s nearly done with the braid; she’s always been fast at it. She says, “Exactly. You did nothing wrong when you left, Weiss, and you have a right to be happy and be at peace now. As for the rest of your family, if you _want_ to try and reach out to them, you can. Just make sure it’s on your terms.”

“Thank you,” Weiss says softly, because there’s nothing else she possibly could say.

Once Blake has finished her hair, tying it off with a ponytail holder, she tucks a lingering strand behind Weiss’s ear. She _should_ know these things by now, but a reminder from time to time doesn’t hurt. Clearly.

“Sorry being such a downer,” Weiss says, looking away.

“You’re not being a downer,” Yang says. “You can tell us whatever you’re feeling.”

“And we’ll be here to listen,” Blake adds.

Weiss smiles at them. “Then you both know you can do the same with me, right? Say anything that’s on your mind?”

They both agree, and the three of them finally start to relax for the night, all of them smushed on the couch together, with Weiss in the middle. The TV is on, but none of them are paying attention, one enormous Beacon Academy throw blanket tossed over their laps. Blake and Weiss read their novels (Weiss blushes _furiously_ when she realizes there are some spicy scenes in the book Blake’s let her borrow, and hopes neither of them notice) and Yang flips through a couple motorcycle magazines. She’d mentioned at the start of the season wanting to add some upgrades to Bumblebee 2.0, and just maybe, she’s going to find a couple parts to do that waiting for her under the tree on Christmas morning.

Probably crashing from all the sugar, Weiss ends up with her head on Blake’s shoulder, Yang’s arm around her as Yang eventually drops her head onto Weiss’s shoulder, dozing too. Blake is wide awake, but doesn’t seem to mind Weiss and Yang leaning on her. Weiss feels so warm under the blanket with them, and they both still smell like gingerbread and cinnamon. Her eyes close with Blake’s words still in her mind, casting away any lingering doubt she’d voiced earlier.

Blake wakes them up a couple hours later, and Weiss and Yang are too fuzzy to really talk, so the three of them retreat upstairs to their beds. In the back of her mind somewhere, Weiss remembers that Ruby said she should be here tomorrow, on Christmas Eve.

~

Weiss wanders downstairs close to 2AM, thirsty from all that sugar. Standing by the front door, though, hands wrapped around a mug of tea, is Blake. She wears a tank top and blue flannel pajamas with tiny cats drinking hot chocolate printed them on. Her eyes flash golden in the darkness, the moon casting silver light on her brown skin.

Perhaps she sees Weiss looking at the pajamas, because she says, "Yang bought them for me. Are they tacky?"

"I mean...you tell me," Weiss says.

Blake shrugs. "She told me to lighten up sometimes."

Weiss suspects she hasn't slept at all - her eyes are clear, though she does have bedhead, black hair tousled like she'd tossed and turned on the pillow.

"Any reason you're awake?" Weiss asks.

"Just general insomnia. I'm kind of a night owl these days. You?"

Weiss approaches her, close enough to smell the mint in Blake's tea. Something to help her sleep, probably. "A glass of water."

"Don't let me stop you."

Weiss pads into the kitchen, fixes the glass of water, and drinks it all at once. Blake is just looking out the window, lit by the Christmas lights still on outside. Atlas was full of statues, but they were so cold, so hard, celebrating military might. When she looks at Blake though, the curve of her jaw and the hair that curls against her cheek, Weiss understands art a little better, why someone would want to capture a moment forever.

"Our lights stay on until two," Blake says. "Our neighbor turns theirs off at midnight. The people across the street keep them on all night, I think."

Walking up to her, to see what she sees through the window, the glow of lights up close around the threshold, Weiss says, "Your's look the best."

"Yang was really excited about them."

There are goosebumps on Blake's arm. Weiss asks, "Aren't you cold?"

"I guess I don't really think about it."

Maybe it's the late hour. Or the lingering eggnog. Or how unfair it is that Blake and Yang make her feel so welcome here, so she has to return it somehow. Weiss wraps her arms around Blake's waist and snuggles into her shoulder, resisting the urge to kiss her smooth skin. She smells like tea tree shampoo, and Weiss remembers that Blake showers at night.

If she's surprised, she doesn't show it, setting her mug down on the hallway table and wrapping one arm around Weiss's shoulder, drawing her in close, setting her chin on top of Weiss's head.

"It's Christmas Eve. Technically," Blake says.

"Then Merry Christmas Eve," Weiss says. “And thank you, for earlier. For what you said.”

“Of course. Sometimes I need reminding of it too, even now.”

Weiss nods against her shoulder. “I always thought I’d outgrow it or something, but I guess this time of year just makes me think about my family more.”

“Yeah, it stays with you,” Blake says. “For a long time. But that’s why the people who love you are here, so I’ve learned.”

Weiss’s heart is beating hard. If Blake had these biceps at Beacon, she doesn't remember them. Blake lifts her chin off Weiss's head and says,

"Mistletoe."

As if Weiss isn't painfully aware of it hanging above their heads. Maybe Blake's been aware of it this whole time, too. She angles her body more toward Weiss, and she catches a rare glimpse of Blake unguarded. Her amber eyes are warm, like a spoonful of honey about to dip into tea, her forehead relaxed, a smile on her lips.

She lifts a hand, thumb brushing against Weiss's lower lip, and she freezes. Her lips part slightly as Blake traces her lip; electricity sparks beneath Weiss's skin, and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She's mesmerized; a shiver jumps down her spine; Blake has reached the corner of her mouth and now comes back the other way, her fingers resting on Weiss's cheek.

It's the late night. It's the eggnog. It's Blake's effortless beauty and the deep well of love within her that she doesn’t show to just anyone. Weiss captures Blake’s hand with her own and presses a kiss to the pad of her thumb. She turns her hand around, fingers sliding over Blake's palm, tracing the rough calluses, formed over the years of gripping her blade. She kisses Blake's knuckles and lets her lips linger there, thinking about the softness of her skin, the way Blake's pupils are dilated.

Kissing her would be so easy. But not here in the dark, when everything is so heightened and distorted, and when there's something missing. Weiss can’t put her finger on it exactly, but she knows this isn’t the moment to start crossing lines and pushing boundaries, when her mind is heavy with sleep.

Weiss drops Blake's hand from her mouth, but still holds onto it, closing her other one around it and squeezing, saying,

"Goodnight, Blake."

Blake smiles as if Weiss needed one more reminder why she loves her. "Night, Weiss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this chapter sure turned out longer than I intended! I’ve been writing away on it for the past few days though, and I’m glad that I could tell the story I feel like I wanted to tell with this one. the fic won’t be finished by Christmas day, as I’m planning to take a break from writing for a couple days, but I will keep writing it as we approach the New Year, and I hope you’ll stick around!
> 
> if you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! I wish all of you the best, especially if this holiday season feels more down than usual. we’re making it through together, if nothing else. leave a comment if you feel like it, and as always, hang out with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dandelionsnight) or [Tumblr!](https://dandelionsknight.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Update as of 2/3/21: this fic is not abandoned! I have the last two chapters outlined, I just have to write them. for everyone who's asked about an update and expressed their love for this fic, I appreciate you so much, and thank you for your love. I will finish this fic, I'm not sure when, but it will be completed!! if you want to follow me on Twitter or Tumblr, I may put updates there, and I also post about what I'm working on at a given moment


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